


The ice-cream machine never works

by Blank_Ideas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fast Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Ideas/pseuds/Blank_Ideas
Summary: Welcome to the Magdonalds au, i will not be taking your order. Inspired by numerous conversations on the basis of a lot of my own headcannons. This is the fast food restaurant au for you.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66





	The ice-cream machine never works

He didn’t want to work here, not at the infamous Magdonalds nor the general area of the Panopticon shopping centre as a whole. 

While both locations were relatively neat and tidy, and their continued interdependence had been more than profitable for both his manager Elias and the owner of the mall Mr Magnus, Jon had always felt something distinctly off putting eminanting from the dreaded white boxes of modern and minimalistic architecture. A corporate hellscape beckoning the tired, the poor and the strange, between the neon green lighting and the peculiar host of coworkers, Jon had been working here for six months and with the opportunity for promotion seeming dire under the heeled boot of Gertrude Robinson, he was now seriously considering Mrs Cane’s wool emporium as a better alternative- even with the blatant overuse of purple and halloween spider decorations through all seasons of the year.

But already by this point it appeared the effort of handing in his two week notice seemed a worthless task of momentous time and focus, writing a resignation letter taking up more conscious thought then he was truly willing to waste on the dead end job only purposed with getting him through his university years.

So here he was, clocking in and out every week and whiling his hours away in the ridiculous uniform for the purpose of feeding possibly some of the most peculiar people he has and ever will meet in his life. 

~~~

Arriving for the start of his 4pm through till however long Elias needed him, shift, Jon took the time to deposit his coat and bag into the backroom. After doing so he had a few moments to spare as he tied his lengthy strands of hair up and settled the familiar cricket field green cap onto his head, fingers roaming the lime green threads he was sure were hand sewed to form the shapes of eyes whilst he mulled over the newest depths of disappointment. 

The place hadn't burnt down just yet despite the most recent attempt of Jude Perry (getting back at her ex), nor had the worms released by that disgruntled customer a few weeks back finally convinced the health inspector to let the doors close on the Magdonalds empire. Unfortunate really, Jon had a headache and no intention of filling the immense standards set upon his and only his shoulders by his employer. Honestly he'd rather sleep.

But sleep would be a while off yet.

He sighs, tightening the knot of the apron behind his back and trying desperately to not crumble into the despair for his early twenties.

A pair of warm hands clamp around his shoulders, the sound of boisterous laughter successfully shaking him from his stupor as he was forcefully wrenched into the living world again not without a small yelp from himself. 

The laughing continues whilst Jon shakes the broad palms off and turns to face his juvenile behaving colleague, a scathing complaint on his lips that fell away into muted aggravation, unable to speak over Tim's laughter. "You are-" 

"Hilarious? Great? Handsome?" Tim grins at his scowl.

"An arse." 

"You know I'm fairly sure that sort of language is banned in the workplace-" Tim begins to speak, his hands ready to punctuate the rambling surely to occur if Jon had not cut him off.

"I don't really care Tim." It's true, Jon doesn't care and Tim fully knows that, hence why he isn't too offended by Jon's brusk words, "What do you want? I haven't started my shift yet."

Tim only settles back, face slipping into a more casual and comfortable expression as his hands dip to grasp around his own waist with a look of smug-ness, "You know that new ice-cream machine? The one Elias stole? Well it broke, so big boss said you have to help lift it so I can take it round back." 

Jon can't help the heavy sigh that escapes.

"And you can't ask Martin to help instead? It's not like he's ever doing anything important."

"If I could, why would I come to you about it?" Tim responds curtly, "You’re not exactly the buffest of blokes."

No, no Jon isn't. In fact his arms and back are already whining about the weight that hasn't even been placed in his grasp yet. "What about Sasha? Isn't she on her break right now?"

"We could just get this over with. Might be quicker if you stop dragging your heels." 

With that Jon leaves the closet haven of just before work and enters the hell hole of the workspace, punctuating this unwanted arrival with the adjustment of his eye engraved visor.

Magdonalds was not the swankiest location Jon had ever visited, if you knew where to look (and he certainly did), you'd find a whole array of rust eaten equipment and yellowed posters, dusted promotional items having made a home in the backroom. Jon dreaded the dirt and stray scraps scraped beneath the cooker between Tim's lax cleaning and Martin's clumsiness. Though with that being said it was presentable, and the nook of grease had really benefited from the funds siphoned from his boss's most recent divorce. The walls, floors, ceiling, all a dame laminated white with only the accents of various shades of green and gold to distract from the sickly shade of lime that filtered the lighting. Even if Tim wasn't the most perceptive or caring in his work, the tables were clean and the chairs were reasonably comfortable. Jon could understand why people came- he just really wished they wouldn't.

Because if they didn't then he wouldn't be here, stuck doing this, going through more strain then Atlas as he put all the work into lifting the broken ice-cream machine while Tim flirted over shoulder with Sasha.

"Girl are those space pants-"

"Tim please focus."

"Because your ass is-"

"Tim." 

"Out of this world."

"Tim I'm begging you just pay attenti-" with that Jon feels the sickening lurch of his chest dropping, leg sliding out from beneath him as the heel of his black converse skidded on a malicious puddle. Mentally he cusses as the sensation of dread reached deep within him and wrought his stomach to his throat, dropping in what felt like slow motion. The ice cream machine drops with him and faintly in the back of his mind he hears the call to prayer, life flashing before his eyes as he mourns the early twenties he'd actually been rather optimistic to live. Hopefully he'll get to be a ghost, maybe haunt Tim for the rest of his wretched existence, ruin his dating game with any luck.

But if he had luck he wouldn't be here right? About to be crushed by a machine that only dispensed vanilla ice-cream stolen from his boss's husband's joint across the court. About to get his face smashed in for the sake of a half baked pick up line that didn’t even make sense because Sasha wore skirts to work. About to suffer the consequences of life's twisted humour, the irony not lost upon himself.

But moments pass and Jon blinks, his hunk of metal death no longer hurtling towards him as it crashed to the side against a cabinet, the weight of Martin heroically diving across half the restaurant instead settling the weight of his sizeable elbow and shoulder directly into Jon's stomach. He wheezes because that's all he can do, pain shooting upwards as Martin lets out a relieved sigh from atop him.

Tim's laughing again overhead, Jon registers that before the sound of Sasha gaspin and joining in despite what appeared to be tentative words of worry. Martin doesn't move, silent atop Jon but joining in on an amusement Jon was not privy to. Instead the red hot feeling of shame sparked through his cheeks and he felt himself grow flustered as the initial shock wore off. 

"Wasn't aware I was paying you all to sit around laughing. Wait is that Pet- my ice-cream machine?" And just like that the humour freezes and Jon becomes increasingly aware of his compromising position. On the floor pinned down by his coworker as both of his colleagues, who he'd once considered adequate in the workplace, laughed to their hearts contentment. 

Elias stands before them, beholder king crown sat primly on his head as his own hazel coloured eyes swept the room all whilst his arms crossed over his chest in a way that would be threatening if not for his eye speckled bowtie.

The twinkish man glares at them, expression a mixture of perplexion and fierce disappointment, retribution on his lips like a lion after a zebra in the savannah.

"We-" Jon starts, heart hammering in his chest as that gifted child anxiety reared it's head through his ribcage.

"We were taking it out boss, then I slipped and Jon tried to stop me falling, instead he fell and I landed on top of him. All my fault, sorry boss." Martin speaks up, rapidly pushing himself up and turning to Elias, cheeks a bright red as embarrassment was delicately shown in his expression.

Jon had never known him to lie before, let alone to be able to do it well, the sight of Martin, glasses in disarray and cheek bruised where it had crossed paths with the ice-cream machine and saved Jon in the process, was oddly disarming.

In response Elias stared them down, the group of gangly and not quite adults in their twenties before sighing with belated exasperation. "Well that is an acceptable excuse I suppose," full of hefty dignity to the last moment, "Clean up and get back to work. We have a restaurant to run and customers waiting."

When Elias turns away Jon drops his head back to the linoleum floor, wishing death upon those bulbs that burned the back of his aching skull. Martin gets up properly, makes an effort to clean up at least while Sasha turns back to busy herself with counting napkins or something equally useless, Tim leans back against the counter and kicks Jon's nearly killer, whistling some cheery tune as though that would help the situation.

Just another day at Magdonalds, Jon mused through the pops of his bones as he brought himself back up, I want to go home.


End file.
